


asymmetry

by the_ragnarok



Series: the only one in my skin [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ace subtype: kinky, Begging, Crying, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Relationship Negotiation, Sadism, Sex Toys, Trans Jonathan Sims, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:02:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23443660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: Jon doesn't want to hurt Martin, except for how he does. (Set about a month after "the only one in my skin")
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: the only one in my skin [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686532
Comments: 30
Kudos: 584





	asymmetry

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Mx_Carter for beta and handholding!!

They don't have a suction-cup toy, so Jon holds the dildo as Martin kneels above it with his legs spread, the toy teasing at the edge of his labia. Martin's thighs are trembling with strain. He's biting his lip.

"Let me hear you," Jon says softly, still self-conscious about saying such things out loud.

But, oh, it's worth it when it leads to Martin opening his mouth and letting out desperate gasps. "Please," he says. "Please." His face is red with effort and embarrassment, chest slick with sweat.

God, Jon adores him. "Please, what?" He leans closer, as though he could catch the words as they leave Martin's mouth, keep them in a cage to admire like songbirds.

"Please let me fuck myself," Martin sobs. There come the tears, right where Jon wants them. "Please let me come for you."

"How can I say no to that?" Jon murmurs, charmed. "Go ahead."

There is still novelty to being able to see Martin as he comes, moreso to being in the same room as he does, but Jon doesn't think he'll ever grow tired of this: watching Martin's face scrunch up and then, abruptly, go slack. Jon raises a hand to Martin's face, delicately swipes one of his tears and tastes it. It's just salt water; why does Jon love it so much?

"You're such a vampire," Martin says, slurred and affectionate.

Even so, Jon freezes, feeling caught out. "I'm sorry." As always, the words come out stiff and inadequate.

Martin blinks at him. His face has lost some of the redness, leaving a rosy flush on his cheeks. "What? Why?"

Words, words are an atrocity. Why do they come to him so easily when he wants to hurt and demean, and are so hard to grasp when he tries to be decent? "I hurt you," he says, inadequate.

Martin gives him a patient look. "Yes. You're a sadist. You do that. I consented to it."

The old fear rears its head. "Consenting to an act," Jon says, "is not the same thing as desiring it."

"This," Martin says, "is a very odd time to start treating me like I don't know my own mind." He goes to his feet and picks up the soiled toy. "Can we talk about this after we've washed our hands?"

* * *

"So, what was that about my consent?"

Comfortably installed on the sofa, Martin leaning against the armrest while Jon leans back on Martin's chest, it does seem silly to worry. They've been going strong for over a month, now, since each of them discovered who the other was.

But Jon mustn't become complacent. "I've mentioned before that you have very low standards for your partners," he says, and then, "That was condescending of me, wasn't it?"

"It was," Martin says comfortably. "I don't mind, so long as you don't get it into your head to dump me for my own good. Again."

Jon winces. "No, that's obviously not the way to go. But I could refrain from hurting you as much as I do. Tone it down."

"You could, but here's a question: why should you?" Martin doesn't sound mocking, but genuinely curious.

It still embarrasses Jon that he has to grab his phone whenever conversation gets too serious, but it must be credited that he communicates much better when he can write down what he means. *I'm concerned,* he writes, *that you are putting up with more hurt from me than you would prefer to, in the name of keeping the peace.*

He hears the soft chime as Martin receives his message, hears Martin humming as he reads it. "Right, so, ignoring how I can speak up if anything bothers me, and I have in the past - what exactly about my reaction made it seem like I wasn't having a good time?"

Jon swallows. *Crying is often a signal of distress.* _That's why I like it,_ he thinks, and flinches.

Martin notices. "What was that?"

Forcing himself to exhale, Jon writes, *I'm not,* he hesitates, but finishes the sentence: *entirely at peace with my sadism. Nor am I sure I should ever be.*

To Martin's credit, he doesn't dismiss this. He says, "I can see why you'd want to be careful, yeah. But, Jon, you know me. This isn't the first time we've played, it's not even in the first dozen. Don't you think you have a fairly good grasp on where my boundaries are, by now?"

Jon cringes with his entire body.

Martin's arms wrap around him, soft and strong and secure. "Jon, what is it? Tell me. Please."

Is this how it feels to Martin when Jon forces him to reveal his fantasies? Jon doesn't like this, not one bit, even if Martin is gentle in a way Jon never is. He finds himself speaking aloud, voice hoarse. "That's how it always is, isn't it? I'm supposed to know where the lines are. But I _don't_ , and I say so and people tell me not to worry, until I cross one and then they're angry because I should have known better. If that's where this is heading, I'd like to get off now."

Martin is quiet, but he hasn't let go. Jon guiltily leans back to feel him for as long as he's still allowed.

Finally, Martin says, "Alright. I see what you mean. I can't say you won't ever hurt me by accident, nobody can promise that. I can tell you this, though: I will always believe you that it was an accident." He shifts under Jon. "Remember, ages ago, when you told me you thought I cared about doing a good job? Well, I believe you care about not hurting me. I don't think you're careless with me. I don't think you're careless at all."

The words, soft as they are, pierce through Jon. He wants to curl up into a ball. This is intolerable. How does Martin allow him to do this? He takes up his phone. *How can you stand being seen like this?*

Martin chuckles. "I love it, actually. I love a lot of the things you do to me. If me coming like a freight train wasn't a hint." After a short pause, he says, "Do you want me to try to explain? Why I like it, I mean. Would that help?"

*Yes,* Jon types gratefully. *Please.*

Martin doesn't answer right away, but his heartbeat is steady; Jon feels it at his back. "I like it when you make me cry," Martin says finally. "I like how you look at me, how you pay attention. I like that you want me, and want me like _that_."

Just for thoroughness' sake, Jon writes, *I want you when you're not crying, too.*

"I know. But being wanted when I'm crying, because I'm crying--" Martin falls silent. After a moment, he says, "I try to be an upbeat kind of guy, you know? It works for me, and I feel better that way. But sometimes, it's good to hurt, and cry, and not to have to put a brave face on it. To know that how I am, snivelling and miserable and wretched, is exactly how you want me to be."

Jon frowns. *You make yourself sound extremely unappealing. It's not like that at all.*

"Alright then, your turn. What's so appealing about me crying until I have snot all over my face?"

*The snot itself is not the appeal,* Jon writes, just to be clear. *But I,* he considers. *There is a primal satisfaction in seeing you so thoroughly stripped of control. So utterly under my hand.*

"Yeah," Martin says softly. "And it's intimate, isn't it? My letting you see me like that."

*Yes. That's exactly right.* Jon sighs. *Which makes me worry I'm doing you a disservice by refusing you the same intimacy on my end.*

"If you need a shoulder to cry on," Martin says, "then yeah, I'll hold you through it, and be honoured you trusted me with that. But that's not something you want to give, so it's not something I want you to give. Simple." After a moment, he adds, "You’re not doing me a disservice any more than I'm doing you one by not forcing you to cry."

*Asymmetry,* Jon writes, *is extremely vexing.*

"If we all wanted the same things, that would suck, though," Martin points out. "Then we'd all want our feet rubbed and nobody would want to rub them, and then where would we be?"

Jon wrinkles his nose. He greatly dislikes his feet being touched. "Are you saying you want a foot rub?"

"I was being metaphorical. Which isn't to say I'll refuse one if it's on offer."

Jon laughs soundlessly and maneuvers so Martin's feet are in his lap. He can take a hint... no, no he can't, but he can understand a plain request. For once, that might be good enough.


End file.
